


Curve

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>References "All the Queen's Horses."</p>
    </blockquote>





	Curve

**Author's Note:**

> References "All the Queen's Horses."

She steps into his office to ask him something and when she sees he's on the phone she doesn't interrupt, because she is a reasonable boss after all. When he doesn't notice her and he's obviously discussing lunch plans, NOT official Canadian business, she just frowns slightly, holds her tongue. He's probably talking to the new Vecchio, the whole newness of whom makes very little sense to her, but as much sense as most things seem to make in the timespacegravitylogic-bending vicinity of Fraser.

And then he's laughing at something replacement Ray said, and his feet come off the floor and he just--curves, slightly, around the phone, tucking his head down.

She doesn't think she's ever seen him curve or bend or curl, be anything but a straight straight line, an immovable object. Even on the train (ha ha actually ON the train, her brain adds, not helpfully) he was holding himself and her up, rigid against the wind that wanted them to fall.

He's hanging up and somehow she's in the room and right by his desk now, and he's jumping to attention, a few warm centimetres from her. She needs to say something, not just stand here and breathe, (and _his_ nostrils are flaring slightly, he's _smelling_ her, and he KNOWS she doesn't wear perfume, he knows that he's smelling HER and knows she knows it too and that's not FAIR.) She has to come up with an order, request, reprimand, and all she can think of is making him into a beautiful curve in her bed, his knees spooned up behind hers and a big warm hand cupping her breast from behind, his perfect hair drunk and disorderly.

"No personal calls during Consulate hours, Constable," she says, because she can't remember what she was going to ask him in the first place, now, and he nods and says "Yes, sir."

 

\--END--


End file.
